


What Legends Are Made Of

by KeroZombie



Category: KFC "Colonel Sanders" Commercials, Original Work
Genre: Gen, Magical Realism, Spooky, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23013943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeroZombie/pseuds/KeroZombie
Summary: 'Sanders Spotting' is the latest international craze where people report sightings of the 'dead' Colonel and post pictures online. Hannah thinks she saw him in London, but she's starting to doubt herself, until things take a turn for the weird...
Kudos: 3





	What Legends Are Made Of

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting on my computer for ages and thought it deserved to see the light of day :) I was thinking of saving it for a book of short stories but the legal issues would probably be a pain in the butt, so please enjoy it here for free instead :D

"Mum, I saw Colonel Sanders again."

My mum is watching a cookery show on the TV.

"I saw him in Soho, on Greek Street. He led me into a road that stretched on forever. It went through where the Phoenix Theatre should've been. I walked down it for an hour then came out on Oxford Street."

"There's a KFC on Oxford Street, isn't there?" She says, crunching a rice cracker between her teeth.

"There is."

She turns the TV volume down,

"Hannah, Colonel Sanders is dead. We've talked about this."

"I know he is, but I've seen him. I'm not the only one, either."

"He's not real."

"He _is_!"

"Even if he is, does it matter? It's over now. You're safe here."

"I'm the only one who's seen him twice."

She takes a bite out of another rice cracker.

"Everyone else on the net has only seen him once, or seen him out of the corner of their eye. I saw him up close. He was beckoning me into that street. He did the same last time, but I didn't follow him."

"It's just a myth. Colonel Sanders is a myth."

"What, you think I'm lying!? You think I'm making this up!?"

"No, of course not."

"So you think I'm crazy?"

"No."

"Well then what?"

"I think you really saw him. I think that so many people believe he exists, that he's come to exist. We're connected, you know. Human beings share a collective unconscious."

"A collective unconscious that can make streets appear out of nowhere?"

"Who knows? The point is, he's just a figment of our collective imagination."

"But it felt real."

"Of course it would. When something is imagined that strongly it might as well be real."

"But you said he wasn't real a minute ago!"

"He's not. He's a harmless daydream that wanders around London, that's what I think. I don't think you should be worried about it. You'll probably never see him again."

"But what if I do?"

She gets up from the sofa and hugs me,

"You won't."

He's been seen in Regent's Park, Hyde Park, in the Thames, on top of Big Ben. He's been seen in Paris, Frankfurt, Moscow, Beijing, Seoul, Tokyo. He's been seen in the Outback in Australia. A scientist stationed at the North Pole reported seeing him talking to a polar bear. American sightings are even more numerous, especially in Louisville. Louisville has become the Transylvania of Sanders spotting. That's what they call themselves: Sanders Spotters. Everyone hunting for a glimpse of the Colonel, or even better, a photograph. There are multiple instagram accounts dedicated solely to posting photos of supposed Sanders sightings. Some people work in teams, scouting out all the KFCs within a certain radius.

I don't wanna see him again. There's something weird about it. Not bad or evil. Just, odd, the way he smiled so warmly at me, inviting me to join him. I remember that his walking stick never made any noise. Nor did he, for that matter. His footsteps were silent, and he never spoke a word. He just smiled and walked beside me. It was a calming experience. Being a vegan, I didn't expect to be calmed by the founder of KFC, but it wasn't something I could control. His warmth was physical. It seeped into and through me. I was weighed down by his presence. It was like walking through water. I walked non-stop for an hour and then we came out in front of a KFC on Oxford Street. When I looked back the street was gone, and so was he. I still don't understand why I saw him, why he walked with me for so long. Maybe he was just trying really hard to sell his product.

My sister neatens the stack of books sitting at the foot of her bed,

"Maybe it's an alien who's chosen to take the form of Colonel Sanders."

"An _alien_?"

"Non-Earthling intelligent life is almost a certainty given the size of our universe."

"He didn't seem like an alien... he seemed more like a ghost."

"I suppose that's also plausible."

"But you don't think I'm crazy?"

"Hannah, if you were, your insanity would be so complex that it would be an achievement in and of itself. To hallucinate not only the street but the length of time, the sensation of warmth... possible, yes - but unlikely."

I play with the hem of my skirt,

"I posted a fake story about him on a fan page. Do you think that has anything to do with it?"

She laughs, "Why would it?"

"Maybe it annoyed him."

"But you said he made you feel relaxed."

"Yeah, he did, but..."

"What did you post?"

"I just said that I used to work at a KFC in the 60s and that I shook his hand once."

"That seems pretty inconsequential to me. Besides, there's no way it's the _real_ Colonel Sanders. Who or whatever the thing you saw was, I highly doubt they check a Sanders fan page."

"It's a pretty big fan page."

"I wouldn't worry about it if I were you. More likely than not, you'll never see him again."

I'm not so sure.

A hot air balloon floats high above the Thames. My mate Emma shoves an entire chocolate orange in her mouth,

"Guh guggi ehnane."

"Yup, I didn't understand a word of that."

She desperately cracks the chocolate with her teeth, her cheeks bulging. Chocolate oozes out of her not-quite-closed mouth. She slobbers. She chokes a little. A seagull shits on the pavement just a few feet from where we're sitting. Finally she swallows some of the chocolate and, with a mouth only half-full, repeats,

"You're fucking insane."

"Cheers. That was well worth waiting for."

"I mean it. I think this fuckhole of a city has shat on your brain and messed with your mind."

"It felt real though, Em."

"Yeah, but just cos it _felt_ real doesn't mean it _is_ real. You could be like, I dunno, a brain in a vat or something. This could all be a super-realistic simulation."

"But then why Colonel Sanders?"

"The system is imperfect. He's obviously a malfunction."

"I dunno..."

"All right, then what if he _is_ real? What if he never even died? He could be immortal."

"My sister thought he was an alien. I think he's a ghost."

"Neither of those are real."

"Yeah they are."

"It doesn't matter, cos he isn't either of those. He's definitely immortal. You said he felt warm, right?"

"He was definitely warm."

"Well then! He can't be a corpse, can he? Corpses aren't warm. Clearly he's still living among us, in secret."

"But that doesn't explain the street."

"If he can achieve immortality, I'm sure shifting time and space and a few buildings here and there must be a piece of cake for him."

Colonel Harland David Sanders was born on September the 9, 1890, three miles east of Henryville Indiana. He was the oldest of three children born to Wilbur David and Margaret Ann Sanders. He enlisted in the army in November 1906 by falsifying his date of birth; he later became a fireman. He started the 'Kentucky Fried Chicken' franchise in 1952. He died in 1980 having lived a long, fruitful life. He died in 1980, and yet here he is standing in front of me right now.

He smiles at me. His hair is white. His beard is white. His suit is white. The only thing that's not white is his tie, which is charcoal black. I step backwards,

"Who are you, really? You can't be Colonel Sanders."

I thought I was safe in my own house, in my bedroom. How did he get into my bedroom anyway? How did he just appear in my bedroom? Why _my_ bedroom?

The back of my foot bumps against my bed. He just stands there in front of my bedroom mirror. He practically glows.

"I'm a vegan, you know. I hate people who kill animals. I'm also a communist. We're never gonna get along, so you might as well leave right now."

He looks at me. Looks _through_ me.

"Stop staring at me."

He taps his walking stick on the floor and the mirror's surface begins to ripple.

"I really am a communist. An anarcho-communist in fact, so that's like the opposite of what your company stands for."

He beckons me, then slowly starts walking into the mirror.

"I'm not following you, Colonel. I'm not-"

A warm sensation soaks up through my feet. My legs dissolve into the floor. My torso dissolves into the floor. I'm a puddle of goo on the carpet. It's like floating on water except I _am_ water. I dribble towards the mirror. Why am I doing this?

Inside the mirror and now I'm walking, strolling beside Colonel Sanders in a cemetery. The air is drowning in light. All the gravestones shine like diamonds. Trees stretch up into infinity. I see a sign saying 'Cave Hill Cemetary'.

"You're buried here, aren't you?"

He looks ahead, seemingly oblivious to my question.

"Why have you brought me here? If this is because of that post I made, I'm sorry. I honestly didn't think it would bother you so much."

His mouth opens wide and he holds his belly as if he's laughing. He _is_ laughing, but no sound is coming out.

"So you _can_ hear me?"

He wipes a tear from his eye, his mouth still curled in a smile, then keeps on walking. I follow.

"Do you bring everyone you see here?"

His lips move silently, making speechlike motions.

"I don't know if you realise this, but I can't hear you."

He taps his nose knowingly.

"I literally cannot hear you."

He doesn't respond. We continue walking. Eventually we reach a huge grave marker with the words 'Col. Harland Sanders' carved into it. Below the words sits a bronze bust of the Colonel himself.

I look at him,

"So you _are_ dead? You're a ghost?"

He laughs again. This time I hear him, but only quietly, as if his voice were coming through half-broken, muffled speakers.

"Nothing's so simple as just 'dead' or 'alive'."

"I guess not. After all, KFC still use your face to market their brand. You're practically a legend. I think some people don't even realise you were a real person."

He furrows his brow, staring at the grass around his gravestone,

" _Some_ say I'm a legend... but a legend is for one who has spent themselves, or is non-existent, and that's not me. I'm not a legend."

I'm looking in the mirror. My eyes are bloodshot. When did I leave the cemetery? Did I ever even go there? Outside the sky is eroding into blackness. What-

"Hannah, Doctor Who is about to come on!"

My mum's voice.

"Be right there!"

I walk out of my bedroom door. The TV is mumbling downstairs. I look back, half expecting to see Colonel Sanders there, but my bedroom is empty. I almost _want_ to see him there. I sigh. Then I pull my bedroom door shut and go downstairs.


End file.
